The ash had thinned, the tremors faded, and the mountain's roar fell silent. Slowly, the land began to breathe again.
One morning, as the villagers gathered at the river, the sun rose brighter than it had in weeks. Its golden light spilled across the water, painting the ash-stained world with hope.
Children laughed as they splashed in the shallows, their voices ringing like bells. Mothers smiled, weaving new mats. Fathers repaired boats with steady hands. The village was alive again.
Lira stood at the edge of the square, thumb pressed against her lips, listening. The wind curled around her ears, soft and gentle: The dawn is yours. You have carried them through darkness. Now lead them into light.
She removed her thumb, her voice calm. "The storms, the fire, the mountain—they tested us. But we endured. We are stronger now."
The villagers bowed their heads, gratitude shining in their eyes. Elder Ramos raised his staff. "This is a new dawn. And we owe it to the Keeper of Silence."
Even Dario, standing at the edge, lowered his gaze. His defiance had broken, replaced by reluctant respect.
The people cheered, and for the first time, the village felt whole.